Looking Up to Smile
by Ms Western Ink
Summary: He wanted it to be perfect, the place, the time, the message... SL Challenge, May: Flowers.[AM]


Looking Up to Smile

* * *

SL May Theme: Flowers 

Author's note: My apologies. Plum blossoms typically reach full bloom at the end of March in Japan and not May (according to a website I visited.) It couldn't be helped. I was not giving up my idea.

* * *

If life was a cup, how full was his? 

It was question he'd come to ponder over the last year. Winter was dying off slowly and spring was breezing in. The snow had come and gone as had the nights where he shivered in his bed alone.

It had been a mediocre year. Nothing of great excitement had happened. Misao had been up and down with pitch and fervor but the events themselves never exceeded the norm.

Hence, the inquiring of his cup.

Misao had appointed herself his temple companion and he did not mind her having done so. At first, it gave him much to reflect on. He spent many hours thinking of her, watching her, listening to the others speak of her.

Misao had grown up.

He was proud of her. Proud of the person she'd become, proud of how she lived her life.

Yet part of him rebelled against this notion, the pungent almost overbearing paternal view.

It had been a long year of staring into the teacup offered to him by Misao. It had been tiresome time staring at the liquid line and wondering.

If the cup represented life, how full was his?

He had come to the sobering conclusion that his cup was nearly empty. Two, thee drops, perhaps remained. Or was it bone dry and he was turning into a delusional old man?

He lowered his head slightly.

An old man.

How discouraging.

Every year took away how much from his cup?

What happened when the cup was empty?

He was not; however, past the point that he could not see that Misao's cup of life was full. It brimmed, almost welled over. Each year added, not subtracted, from her.

She was blossoming, a fact he had sugar coated in many ways before this past year. The year might have been ordinary, but it had been one of discovery. It had been a time of realization and acceptance. He was ready, he thought, on many levels to, perhaps, add to his cup.

What he direly wanted was to avoid siphoning away from Misao, but, instead, for Misao to help him fill his own. Were such possible, he did not know yet. He didn't even know how to ask.

Misao's changes had been both physical and non-physical. Instead of becoming slimmer he had seen an increase in the span of her hips. It was slight, but noticeable. The line of her breast was a tad more defined, not by much, but enough to draw his eye as something different. She was a bit thinner in the face and her hair a bit longer.

The changes were subtle.

There was even a slight change in her voice; the delicate timbre had dropped a fraction lower, giving her a less girlish, more womanish sound. It was something that had met his ears suddenly and with great surprise.

He was not certain if he was the only party to notice.

She had become more responsible, but had retained her bounciness. Her talent for socializing had grown the Aoiya and she continued to practice her skills, both business and fighting. She persistently doted upon him, something he'd found he was grateful for.

There were times when he felt like an invisible third party there; with only the delicate threads Misao had sewn to him keeping him attached to the group at all.

With a sobering sigh, he stood. His return walk to the Aoiya was one of reflection and angst. He was lost in the current trends and fashions. He knew neither the cultural sways nor even how he felt about the matter that had been so plaguing his waking moments.

He knew he had come to some realization, some determination about her. But he was not certain of the depth to which it had rooted in him and he did not know how to find out.

Navigating the crowds and reaching the Aoiya was easily done. The masses were denser with spring imminent, but people passed by one another fluidly.

He slid open the restaurant doors and stepped into a madhouse. Noise polluted the entire dining area as groups on two sides of the aisle to his left argued.

Aoshi spared an absent glance and headed toward the back. No one stopped him.

Past the back door and into the exclusive living quarters of the Aoiya staff, he paused to peer about. Everyone was up front working. In his quick assessment he had spotted Omasu and Okon trying to settle the carousers. Okina had cornered a couple of young girls. Misao had been in the kitchen, as evidenced by the raised tone of her voice through the door, obviously yelling at Shiro and Kuro.

Everyone was accounted for.

He headed up to his room.

A quick nap would suit. He'd himself becoming attached to the afternoon slumber. It both relaxed and calmed him. It gave him a deep-seated tranquility, something he found he needed more and more as Misao waged war in his head.

* * *

Dinner was late, as was typical for the Aoiya residents. The restaurant was closed first, then dinner, and then cleaning. Everyone helped. 

Even Aoshi.

He swept the floors. It gave him time enough to watch Misao as she flitted from table to table, washing them down. He liked to watch her, particularly because he found one part of her fascinating.

It was the subtle curve of her knee.

It brought to his attention how much space there was between her kneecap and the bottom hem of her shorts, an expanse of flesh that had expanded over the past year.

Granted, not by much, she had grown less than five inches total, but it was new to him all the same.

The last few days his pondering had become more intense. He was growing impatient and weary about his own lack of action. He was not a man to sit about and be idle when there was clearly a need for action, and this was a case of the latter for certain.

The problem, however, was very simple. He did not know what action was suitable.

Misao was growing up and he, too, felt like he was growing up. Now, he felt, was the time to take the tentative steps forward and see where he ended up.

Question was: how did he intend to do that?

He lost momentary awareness of his surroundings and stepped backwards and straight into Okon. The tray of dishes she was carrying tipped and fell and clattered, shattering over the floor.

Everyone seemed to freeze, as if waiting to see who would say something first.

Okon, without comment, immediately kneeled and began to pick up the pieces. Aoshi, propping his broom against a booth divider knelt down to help.

The others went about their tasks, the incident seemingly overlooked without comment entirely. Piling the remains upon her tray, Okon took it away and Aoshi found himself alone, several long minutes later, in the dining room with his broom.

He discarded the broom and wandered toward the front door, sliding it open to peek outside. It was still and the sun was long set. One candle remained alit where Omasu had left it for him. The others had retreated into the back quarters, probably readying for bed or beginning some late hobby.

"Excuse, me Aoshi-sama?"

It was Misao.

He turned, pulling the door open further moving aside to allow her to stand with him in the doorway.

"Aa?"

"Is everything okay? You seem distracted."

He stared out into the darkness frowning.

She was right next to him, in less than an arm's length of him and yet he couldn't reach out and…

It needed to be perfect.

Nothing less than perfect would do for her.

"It's nothing important. You've been here a lot, haven't you?"

He'd noticed the amount of time she spent working. If she wasn't looking over records or waiting tables or cooking then she was cleaning up or making sure he was eating.

She'd almost become a mother hen to the Aoiya.

"Ah," she scratched the back of her head awkwardly, shifting nervously. She ended up turning away, looking out into the street and away from him. "A while ago this girl came into the Aoiya…"

He turned to peer over at her at the unusual pause and the sad, melancholy tone.

"I knew her when I was younger. She came to the Aoiya to play sometimes."

What?

He stared at her blankly. What about this young woman had so disturbed Misao? What had she done to effect such a change in the bouncy girl he so adored?

"She had her son with her and he was really cute. She asked me how I was and what I'd been doing… and… I didn't have anything to show. If … I just thought that if the only thing I had to show for my life so far was working at the Aoiya, then it should be the best place in town. That's why I've been here so much."

Was she referring to a family? She didn't have a family to show off at her age? It was something the others pestered her about enough; he'd heard it himself.

It was an entirely different matter from the mouth of a stranger.

There was a sad smile upon her lips.

Was it reflective or a hopeless acknowledgement of fact?

"Anyway, with spring so close the Aoiya is going to be busy! I just know it! I have hundreds of things planned and the new decorating is going beautifully, did you… oh, right, you just broke some of the new dishes."

She looked up at him with a smile before smacking his arm playfully. "Don't worry about it, Aoshi-sama. Easily replaced…. I hope. If not, it gives me an excuse to get a whole new set."

He stared at her a moment, a deep frown upon his lips.

Misao's friends had grown up, but Misao had lingered. Misao had been held back by the whimsies of her family, by him.

He had, in a way, caused this pain of hers.

The insecurity he could see shadowed in her eyes now that he hadn't seen before.

He would fix it, he silently promised.

He would fix this and he would give Misao something she could show, something she could hold up proudly for the world to see.

He would not worry about his cup and how empty it was. He couldn't when it seemed as though Misao's cup had cracked.

* * *

His feelings on spring were mixed. 

It was a time of blossoming and renewal.

If he cared to reflect upon it, he would guess spring had always made him think of Misao.

He had always thought of her fondest at about springtime, hadn't he?

The thought brought a warm, tingly feeling to him, a fondest he craved. The surety and security of memories deeply held.

"Aoshi-sama, you're being so gloomy… don't frown at the customers!" Misao chided as she drifted by him for the third time.

He was tempted to impatiently remind her that he was waiting on her to give him the list.

He, foolishly, had volunteered to help out in recompense for the damage done to the dishes. Now, he wished he hadn't.

Misao had told him he could go shopping, but had yet to give him the list she'd promised him. Instead, every time she walked by she chastised him about something.

"Okay! I've got it! This is the stuff we need. The stuff with the checkmarks we really need. The stuff with the little hearts is stuff I'd like to have, but you shouldn't buy unless the price is good. Everything else is sort of optional. If you see it, grab it."

With it, she handed over a generous sum of money. Was the Aoiya doing that well that she could just fork over cash so frivolously?

He took his assignment in silence and went, eager to be out of the cluttered, cloistered gossip mill environment that had become the Aoiya during day hours. Women flocked there in numbers that made him uncomfortable and he'd seen more than a few staring at him.

He did not appreciate being the subject of female scrutiny.

Outside, he ran into a woman he recognized from days past. She had been one of the carrier pigeon handlers in the olden days.

"Oh, my, Shinomori-san. You don't look a day older since the last time I saw you. You men age so gracefully."

He bowed politely to her and assisted her to the door. Misao had told him her husband had died just this past winter and she'd been spending a lot of time at the Aoiya. It was one of the few things he'd picked up from her sometimes-incessant chatter.

Before he opened the door, the woman grabbed his sleeve at the forearm. "Shinomori-san, have you seen the trees?"

He paused.

"It's that time of you, you know. The buds are about to blossom with their flowers, I do love this time of year. My husband and I married in the springtime."

She turned away from him a moment and looked out into the city.

"Misao reminds me of myself when I was younger, so vibrant. She tells me you take very good care of her, I was glad."

The woman's smile was sad.

"She's a good girl. One day, I told her this, she'll find herself a good husband and she won't need to depend on you anymore. But that seemed to make her sad, so…" she turned back, patting his arm lightly. "You take care of her now… "

He opened the door for her and Misao, spotting the woman nearly at once immediately came over, all smiles and happy chatter. Misao guided the woman by her elbow, leading her away. She cast a smile back at him and continued on.

He, again, went to fill the shopping list.

* * *

That evening, alone in the stronghold that was his personal quarters, Aoshi discovered his answer. 

His perfection solution for Misao, the one thing he knew he could do and that would work.

Earlier at the market he'd cast his eyes upon all manner of flower prints. Clothes, hair accessories, purses, toys, flower vendors…

Flowers, it seemed were everywhere and he did not have a particular affinity for them.

However, as he made to pass by one of his favorite haunts, the book vendor drew his attention with a new arrival.

"The Language of Flowers".

He'd been skeptical and adverse to the title at first. Then he had recalled seeing his old neighbors face and her sad and yet strangely happy smile as she recalled her wedding amongst the spring flowers.

He presumed it was among the spring flowers, he could no longer recall if she had mentioned them or not.

Afterwards, he'd remembered Misao's sad smile and then the old neighbor again, asking him to look after her.

He wanted something perfect to give her, something special. He'd thought, perhaps, she'd like the book.

Now, hours later and the contents of said book read and digested, he realized he was a fool.

He'd been planning to give her a book about flowers. He scoffed and mocked his own stupidity.

The timing of the vendor and the book sale had been impeccable. Within, he'd found the perfect solution, the perfect blossom to convey everything he needed… every emotion, every trait, everything that defined Misao to him.

Pleased with himself, satisfied beyond words at his discovery he retired to bed late, determined that the following day would be a day of watching and planning.

* * *

"Does she know?" 

Omasu and Okon exchanged glances with one another before looking back to Aoshi. He had pulled them aside just minutes ago to inquire about Misao before the lunch crowds appeared.

"Well, we think so… but sometimes Misao really isn't into all the gooey romantic stuff we talk about and she kind of zones out on us," Omasu answered before her expression turned sly. "Are you planning something special, Aoshi-sama? Misao will be so surprised!"

The two women turned to one another and hugged. "It's such a great day, imagine the look on her face!"

"I can't wait till she tells us!"

Omasu sobered. "We need to have a little talk with her."

Okon's expression mirrored Omasu's. "Oh yes, before the wedding."

Aoshi blinked and stepped back. He felt his back muscles tense.

"Don't you worry Aoshi-sama, we'll have Misao all ready for you."

"Although," Okon interrupted, "I think we already had that little talk with Misao, didn't we?"

Omasu paused. "You know, I think we did. Before she started traveling on the road, for her own safety, of course."

"But, actually, we might've left some stuff out. Let's talk to her again anyway!"

Aoshi sweat dropped and backed away. He had things to do elsewhere. Momentarily, he questioned whether or not he would approach the two of them anytime in the future.

* * *

She yawned. 

He'd spent the first half of the morning wandering, searching for the perfect spot for his plan that had been part one: location. It had been far more easily done than he'd expected. With that out of the way he was ready for part two: observance.

He had decided to observe her merely for his own amusement. He did not wish to take part in the daily routines performed by the other residents and he did not wish to meditate.

He was filled with a longing, but yet a feeling akin to excitement also. Feelings he'd thought dead and gone now reviving, not unlike dried mushrooms slowly re-hydrating in water.

Misao's uniform had been shed for a simple kimono, plainly colored. She bounded around from table to table smiling pleasantly, but there was fatigue in her movement. He could see it when she walked and when she smiled, a hesitation there.

This was taxing on her.

After almost an hour of discrete staring, she noticed him and came over.

"Aoshi-sama! I thought you were at the Temple, I was having your tea made."

The last couple of trips the tea had come pre-made in the kettle from the kitchen and the elaborate tea ceremony had been abandoned. Misao simply hadn't the time for it and he preferred a warm brew to bring to his lips.

It gave him something to feel.

"I'll have it here instead," he answered sedately.

She nodded. "Okay, I'll get it for you. Do you want anything else? Perhaps a hot dish or dessert, we have cakes and cookies and…"

"Just the tea," he replied and she nodded.

"Right away, sir!" she chirped happily and the fatigue on her face lessened just slightly.

He was glad.

He didn't know what it was about himself that made her happy, but he was glad for it.

Misao was a mystery to him in some respects, but in others she was familiar. She was warm and solid.

He wanted to turn in his futon and curl around her. He wanted her to snore in his ear and wake him with kisses or for him to wake her with kisses. He wanted to know the taste of her skin. He wanted to know how much she could make him sweat beneath the blankets while it snowed outside.

He wanted a lover, but more than that, he wanted a companion. He wanted a person who could accept his shaded past and his brooding silences. He wanted someone who knew and understood him.

He'd finally understood Misao could be all those things. She didn't have to be a vision of the past. She didn't have to be the little girl he'd once known. She didn't have to be an object of guilt or pain or temptation.

When she returned several minutes later, she fiddled over the supplies, clinking the dishware as she worked. She poured his tea, fixing it as he liked it and he sipped it obligingly, thanking her.

Her face lit with comment, her eye sparkling with warmth. She was most beautiful when she was happy.

How it amazed him that such little things pleased her so well…

As she turned to go, having told him just moments ago she had customers to see, he stopped her. His fingers caught and latched upon her tiny wrist, his long fingers wrapping all the way about easily.

She was so tiny; she could be so easily hurt.

"Misao?"

Her eyes widened and she looked the part of an innocent child being confronted by her first crush.

"Y-yes, Aoshi-sama?" There was a quiver in her tone, a kind of timidity.

He slid his fingers lower and traced them against her palm while maintaining eye contact with her. He could see her faintly tremble in response to the tickling of her palm, but she didn't move away from the contact.

"In a few days, will you escort me on a short trip?"

Her eyes widened impossibly further. "Eh… s… okay."

He let his hand drift downward, their skin sliding together softly, all the way to her fingertips before he released her.

"Thank you."

She nodded, her head bobbing as she agreed. She appeared pale and lost, standing there.

"Misao!"

Her head snapped around as Omasu called for her and she quickly dashed away.

He returned to his tea, bringing the cup to his lips.

For now, he would have to indulge in the warmth of it against his mouth. It was not too long to wait for Misao; she had waited much longer than he.

* * *

It was several long days before he could proceed further as nature could not be rushed. Misao had just sat down at a table, looking exhausted, her scrubbing of the tables complete. He regretted that she appeared so tired, but he would wait no longer. 

Today was the perfect day.

It was today that the first blossoms had opened.

It was past sundown by almost an hour and the sky was dark, but he was going. _They_ were going tonight.

He had prepared for the occasion well. His supplies were set and ready he needed but one thing, and that was the currently exhausted girl now lying, rather than sitting, staring at the ceiling.

He stood but didn't walk directly toward her. Rather, he took a roundabout path, around the center tables watching her. Her eyes were closed. There was a distinct rising and falling of her chest movements as she breathed.

"Misao?" he called ahead, his voice raised just below that of normal tone.

"Hmmm?" Her head flopped to the side and she kept her eyes closed.

"Are you prepared to leave?"

"…. Leave where?" she mumbled.

As he came to stand directly over her, he began to worry. She was not merely plopped out on the floor, but perhaps on or past the verge of actually sleeping.

He knelt down by her, lifting her hand. It dropped to the floor and jarred her, her eyes fluttered.

"What?" she whined, her voice childish.

Why was she _this_ tired?

Surely, a standard day of work couldn't exhaust her to such a degree? Had she been having trouble sleeping? Should he postpone his trip?

He rose up and moved, placing his back to the wall and then reached for her. She seemed to radiate heat, bathing in warmth; he pulled her toward him slowly.

She stirred and moved but she was slow and clumsy. He settled her into his lap, her head and cheek resting against his chest. Her eyes blinked and fluttered as she tried to decipher her whereabouts.

"It's fine, Misao. Sleep for a bit."

Content with his fuzzy answer in her ears she leaned against him heavily and drifted off.

He was fine.

He could wait.

It was much easier, he determined, to wait with her in his arms, than to wait from afar.

* * *

It was hours after midnight when she began to move in his lap. Her shifting stirred him from the nap he'd drifted into. She rocked her weight forward, across his groin and then back over it as she shifted again. 

Aoshi tensed uncomfortably.

"Aoshi-sama," she murmured, her voice was sleepy still.

"Aa?"

Had it merely been an acknowledgement and not a question? She yawned and moved away, stretching, blinking suddenly.

"Oh!"

Up she went, struggling, fumbling. In her dash to get out of his lap, after belatedly realizing where she was sitting, she pushed her hand down against his chest to leverage herself.

The hand slipped and slid down to his waist, catching on the sash of his yukata. He grunted softly at the hard pressure that close to his crotch and she pulled her hand back like she'd burned him and managed to finally scramble off and onto the floor beside him.

Twisting around, she faced him. "S-Sorry, Aoshi-sama." He could not see the tone of her cheeks but her embarrassment was palatable.

He leaned forward and looked toward her. She was staring at him looking a little lost or was it nervousness?

"Why are you so tired?" he asked.

She immediately looked away, casting her eyes across the darkened restaurant.

She couldn't argue that her practically collapsing into sleep was the usual for her, when he knew it wasn't.

"Couldn't sleep," she replied. "Just a bad day."

Standing up, she stretched and yawned, looking energized. He found himself envious of her youthful stamina.

He was slow to pull himself up upon his own feet. Was now inappropriate? Could he, should he, did he want to wait longer?

"Come," he motioned with his hand and he watched as she perked up, interested.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice dipped lowly, as though she thought they were conspiring or suddenly being spied on.

"I have something for you."

The reply quieted her. He glanced back to see a puzzled expression upon her face.

His lamp was by the door and he quickly lit it on the way out. He waited for her to pass out before him and then slid it closed. She crossed her arms across her chest as they walked.

He stared straight ahead while she glanced around. The birds were quiet and only a faint wind blew, ruffling the leaves of the sparse trees. Down a side alley, he ducked, waiting to ensure she was beside him. Reaching down blindly, he gripped her wrist and walked ahead, guaranteeing her safety and closeness to him in the dark.

"Aoshi-sama, where are we going?"

Her tone turned frantic as he opened the private gate of a house she'd never noticed before and stepped inside.

"Come," he urged, not elaborating further, pulling her along when her footsteps became reluctant.

He stopped suddenly beneath a wide spread of branches overhead.

"Here."

She turned her eyes up, staring at the blossoms on the otherwise bare branches. They appeared white in the darkness.

"Pretty," she murmured. "Um… what are they?"

"Plum blossoms," he replied.

"Oh." She waited stilly, staring up, as though not sure what she should do. "Do you like the fruit trees, Aoshi-sama?"

He frowned, disappointed. "Aa."

She pulled her crossed arms tight across her chest, trying to hold in her heat.

After a moment longer, he turned. "Let's go back."

She followed soundlessly.

He retired to bed heavily saddened. Tired eyes found no comfort in sleep. On the brink of dawn, another idea graced his exhausted brain. He rose from his bed prematurely, fatigued, but hopeful.

* * *

Misao yawned. She'd drifted in and out of sleep all morning. At first, she'd thought staying awake for the rest of the night was the best thing to do. She shouldn't have stayed up so late the previous night, now it had thrown her all off. 

But the later it got, the more tired she became and she'd ended up drifting into sleep despite her attempts to stay awake.

Now, as she shook herself awake, blinking at how bright it was. She scrambled up; she was not even dressed yet.

No sooner had she sat up all the way did she notice a line of tiny vases. In each was a tree sprig with buds and blossoms. Attached to every little branch was a sliver of paper.

"Courage," she read aloud. Absently she flipped it over to find, "Kitchen" on the other side.

Kitchen?

She stood up and straightened her yukata, and then, feeling chilly, she pulled on another over it and tucked it around her for warmth. She sat the bloom aside and walked to the door.

The house was quiet.

Misao crept down the stairs, the slippers on her feet keeping the chill from her toes. She yawned and pulled open the door to the kitchen, surprised to find it cold and empty.

Why weren't there people preparing for the day inside?

On the empty countertop was another vase. She checked the tag.

"Chastity."

Chastity?

Misao blinked, surprised.

Chastity?

The back of the tag was "garden".

She grabbed the vase and headed back to the hallway. As far as she could tell everyone as gone.

Where were they?

She was almost more curious about where everyone had gone than she was about the flowers.

She was almost certain she'd find Aoshi on the other end of the flowers, because if she found anyone else she'd smash their fingers or something. On the way there, she peeked by the living room, it too, was empty.

She headed around back.

The back garden was lit with warm sunlight, the garden just starting to bloom. There were tiny specks of green in the freshly turned flowerbeds. The garden itself was devoid of people.

She had, in some capacity, expected to talk to Aoshi-sama here.

At the end of the previous summer, Okina had planed a new tree. It was, as she'd been told, a "dwarf" tree. It was barely cresting three feet. Okina had smiled and patted her head condescendingly when she'd commented it "wasn't much of a tree".

Apparently, it was going to get bigger.

Now, the said tree planted at the end and to the right of the garden pathway was covered in little white slips of paper.

It looked…

Actually, it looked like something she would see in a shrine yard.

Reaching for it, she plucked one paper and gently untied it from the branch. The paper was crinkled every which way, but the ink was blaring and clear.

"Womanhood."

The paper slipped from her fingers as a hand descended upon her shoulder. It was warm and large, her mouth fell, her jaw slackening.

He couldn't mean…

She turned back, twisting around. "Aoshi-sama…?"

Were all the little papers the same?

She turned away from him and pulled down another.

"Womanhood."

She blinked, staring at it in disbelief, so she grabbed another. His hand falling over hers stopped her.

"Misao, they're all the same."

His voice was soft.

"But Aoshi-sama this says-" she trailed off abruptly.

He tightened his hand upon hers and guided it away from the tree. He turned her palm to his and their fingers slid together curling.

It was a quiet, yet startling moment.

Misao had never felt so exhilarated and peaceful at the same time. Her breathing quickened, but neither moved.

She stared at their fingers joined together and he did the same. Her palm felt sweaty against his and she suddenly felt the need to draw away. There was something a little embarrassing about… sweating against him, but his fingers tightened.

"You want to show something, Misao?"

She looked up, her discomfiture dimming in light of his question.

"Can I be something you can hold up?"

She blinked in astonishment as her whole body trembled. Was he…?

"Can I be something you can bear without shame?"

She stared at him, her breath stolen from her. "Aoshi-sama, how could you think otherwise? You…" Tears welled in her eyes as emotion filled her chest, paining her. "You aren't something anyone has to _bear._"

He stared at her a moment and then pulled her nearer, walking toward the Aoiya. The place was stone silent; even the ticking from the new, large clock that Okina had purchased could be heard from the back entrance.

He led her upstairs but paused at a hall window. He turned partway to view her, or near about the floor space at her ankles, not raising his gaze to her face.

"I'm sorry, Misao. I wanted it to be perfect."

She stepped closer, wrapping herself as much as she could around his arm, pressing her cheek against his sleeve.

"We could've been on a sinking ship, and it still would've been perfect."

"But you're sad," he noted.

She smiled then and he looked up but it was a bittersweet expression, there was something there off kilter.

He pulled her along, confused and worried. To his doorway, he led her and pulled open the door. She preceded him inside and he closed the door behind her, waiting by the door as she peered around.

Misao glanced about the room. It was sort of a forbidden place for her. She hadn't seen the inside of Aoshi-sama's room since he'd moved back into it.

But… she paused.

That was… her kunai were sitting upon a dresser table, the open closet doors revealed several garments she knew to be her own, and by the bed… more flowers.

"This is all I can give… Is it good enough?"

She was on the verge of turning back to answer when something upon the windowsill caught her eye. A tiny splash of color…

Walking toward it she lifted the tiny print and gasped. It was herself in black and red and blue inks and with her… was a baby. The kanji down the right side was clear and crisp, "Shinomori."

It felt like her whole world stopped. Her eyes burned and blurred as tears gathered. She raised her fingertips to wipe them hastily away as they dripped over. Her lip quivered.

"Aoshi-sama…"

She whipped around and turned straight into him. The painting crumpled in her hand slightly and she dropped it as she gripped onto the fabric of his clothing.

The tears were wet and hysterical; she gasped for her breath and lost. He held her against him, apologizing softly. She shook her head but couldn't form words to rebut him.

It didn't have to be perfect; nothing needed to be perfect. She'd follow him around the world camping on wet or cold ground; walking through drought or snow, nothing at all mattered.

His lips were close to his ear again when he spoke. "This is all I can give, Misao. Is it enough?"

She nodded. "There's nothing else… what else matters?" she asked and he pulled her back from him and cupped her chin in his hands, lifting it up. Her face was pink from crying, her eyes red and bloodshot, she sniffled.

He was as a sponge; he wanted to soak up anything she'd offer.

The preconceptions, the meditations, nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing of his previous experience with women had given him any clue what this would be like.

His perceptions and notions of this encounter shattered as he realized the depth to which he'd been wrong. How completely ill conceived his ideas about Misao had been wrong, how he'd feel when they met this way.

Nothing, nothing could describe the hum of his body or the emotion that welled from deep in his chest…

Nothing, it seemed, but she could alleviate the sickening burn to hold her, to sink against her in his bed and just lie there.

Just to touch, just to feel her against him warm and solid and real…

It was all enough; he knew it would be. He expected her acceptance, he probably took it for granted, but he wouldn't anymore. He could, he could dedicate himself to pleasing her, he wanted to.

He wanted…

Her lips promised to be soft, slowly, with a hesitation that belied his longing he leaned toward her.

The meeting of their mouths was awkward and clumsy. He tilted her jaw and mouth against his own wanting to taste more of her.

Inexperienced, they fumbled against one another. Aoshi had never liked touching his lips to another's, it had been far too intimate. Now, he couldn't touch her; even taste her enough. He wanted to know what all of her tasted like.

Breathlessly, they drew apart, panting softly against one another's cheeks. It seemed as though they were equally reluctant to draw away.

"Let me…. Live with me here, leave your room, stay in mine, marry me…"

She nodded absently, he wondered if she was listening.

"Save yours… let me give you something to be proud of…"

Again, she nodded, turning her mouth toward his. He obliged her, drinking from her lips. He suckled against her bottom lip greedily an then probed the seam of her lips.

She gasped, startled as his tongue slipped into her mouth. Her entire body weakened and he struggled to steady her against him.

The inside of her was soft and wet and…

He drew back; the dazed look again graced her expression.

"Misao… let's have a baby," he murmured softly.

He tightened his fingers at her jaw when she didn't respond and here eyes cleared of their cloudy expression.

"Aoshi-sama," she replied, a playful smile dancing upon her swollen lips. "Let's have six!"

* * *

End. 

Woooooooooooooooooooo! --sings-- It's over, it's over… --dances--

I'm really happy to see the end of this I didn't really like it... it felt repetitive and bleh. Thanks for your patience though. And I didn't change my title like I said I was going to.

Much thanks to Kettering who beta-read and Menolly who edited. I appreciate the help.


End file.
